


sylleth and silsuavi go to white castle

by AxolotlQuestions



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Baking, Bees, Gen, Warlock - Freeform, archfey patron, silsuavi is not a good parent, sylleth really about to throw hands with a 14 yr old huh, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxolotlQuestions/pseuds/AxolotlQuestions
Summary: a warlock and her patron/parent go get dinner





	sylleth and silsuavi go to white castle

Nedrea can be an okay place to live sometimes maybe. It always has summer’s warmth and sun, but without its sweltering glare or haze, and the sweetest of fruits grow ever-present on low-hanging branches close to the shade. The cry of crickets in the morning is loud, but not deafening, and nighttime is always lit with fireflies dancing about in the dark. The walkways around the gardens are covered with soft, green moss that stay cool even during the hottest parts of the day. 

And Silsuavi isn’t there half the time. That part, Sylleth thinks, might be one of the best things about the place.

Sure, the constant trips away had bothered her when she was younger, when Silsuavi was still “Mom” and not “Boss” in her mind and she’d show her how to make flowery sweets to eat and twist the vines and branches in the Orchard into columns and sculptures and things like that, but by now she’s learned to tolerate, if not outright enjoy, the fey’s absence and some of the freedom that it brings. 

There’s a pattern, Sylleth has found, to when Silsuavi will decide to take a trip and when she’ll decide to come back, and in all honesty, she thinks it would be more disappointing to the archfey if she didn’t exploit it some way or another. So, after the Boss leaves to do whatever it is that she does, Sylleth takes the time to enjoy being left to her own devices. 

It’s not as though she hates her or anything. But after learning to make do without her, there are certain things that she knows she prefers to do on her own. Wandering into the outside world, or growing a house for herself the way they do in Mal’allave, or sitting inside that grown house and working on some new recipes to try out for later, like she’s doing now.

“Sylleth! My child, my little Mulberry Sapling! I’ve returned!” 

Like what she was doing, but isn’t anymore. She groans and scribbles the last parts of the recipe down, frowning at how messy the writing is compared to the rest of the page, and then she gets up from her seat and shambles toward the front door. She gives herself a moment to mentally prepare, takes a few deep breaths and whatnot and then opens the door to see Silsuavi’s ever-smiling, never-blinking face staring her down. 

“Hi, Boss,” she says flatly. Silsuavi shuffles into the cottage. Sylleth watches her. “Did you have a nice trip?” 

“Hm?” The archfey sets a large carpet bag on the table and barely glances over. “Oh, yes, yes, it was nice enough. You could learn a thing or two from those druids. I got you a present, by the way. It’s in my bag. Go ahead and open it if you’d like.” She shuffles further into the house. Sylleth glances helplessly at the table, but it’s bad manners to refuse a gift, so she silently hopes as she approaches the bag that whatever is in there isn’t another beehive, or if it is, that the bees are asleep or at least calm enough for her to set up in the Orchard without too much trouble.

She opens the bag. It is indeed another beehive, but the bees are asleep this time, which Sylleth appreciates. She tells Silsuavi that the lack of wakeful bees is something that she can definitely appreciate and that she’ll be sure to put it with the other ones, and the fey sort of hums back, still shuffling about the place. Sylleth has to awkwardly half-jog-half-walk to keep up with her. “Boss, is everything—”

“Where was your kitchen again?” Silsuavi turns around all the sudden, still smiling, still not blinking. 

Sylleth does her best to keep from bumping into her patron or any of her furniture. It’s almost good enough. She kicks the leg of the chair that got in her way, but instead of the formal apology and potential recompensation that she wants, all that she gets from that is a stubbed toe. “Down the hall on the other side,” she says weakly. 

“Thank you.” 

Silsuavi shuffles in the other direction, and Sylleth follows behind her, hopping on one foot. 

They reach the kitchen, clean and empty because Sylleth hasn’t done any cooking today. When Silsuavi sees the place, her eyes brighten and her smile somehow grows wider. It makes Sylleth very concerned. Boss usually doesn’t care about how her house is put together, which means that either guests are coming over or she’s happy about something entirely different, and both of those options fill Sylleth’s heart with fear and loathing. 

The fey turns around, looking absolutely overjoyed. Sylleth wonders why she’s having heart palpitations. 

“Excellent, excellent. You haven’t made dinner yet.” 

“No, not yet.” Sylleth raises a brow. “Was there something you had in mind, or…?” 

“Hm, sort of. I was thinking we could do takeout, actually.” 

Sylleth sputters, because the last time they “did takeout” it ended an effigy of the then Tiefling king being burned in the middle of town and a drunken crowd passed out nearby, and she’s not sure she wants a repeat of that experience. “What. Why.” 

“Well, you haven’t made dinner yet, for one thing. And there’s a certain party that I need to attend, and it’s been so long since we’ve had any quality time together as a family, and sometimes I feel like I should have given you the chance to make more friends when you were younger since you don’t have very many right now, and—”

“Okay!” Sylleth rushes past Silsuavi to make sure that the stove is off. “Okay. Yes. Takeout’s fine. Let’s do takeout.” 

Silsuavi clasps her hands together and smiles bright. “Oh, that’s wonderful, my child! Truly wonderful!” And then she gathers up her carpet bag, the beehive still sitting snug at the bottom, and she snaps her fingers, and then she, Sylleth, and the bag find themselves standing at the edge of the woods instead of in Sylleth’s house. 

Sylleth takes a moment to eye the town and the impressive manor nearby. “Oh, so it’s a human party. Not sure what I was expecting.” She turns back to Silsuavi, hoping for some sort of context or something, but the archfey isn’t there, just a stout elf woman in a hydrangea colored cardigan and big round glasses who looks old enough to have seen the Tiered Gods create the world from the Abyss and then aged rapidly from the stress of dealing with all the bullshit that came after.

“Why.” Sylleth says, not at all impressed. Silsuavi takes off the glasses and winks. 

“It’s a surprise disguise that will help us later.” She slips the glasses back on. “Are you ready, my child?” 

“No, but I’m hungry.” Sylleth glances at the manor again and sighs. “Boss, what did they do? This seems like a lot of effort for food that’ll probably be worse than what I could make at home.” 

“Oh, you’ll soon find out. Now hush. Any more talk and we’ll be late for the party, and you know how rude that would be.” With that, Silsuavi heads into town. Sylleth rolls her eyes and falls into step beside her. 

It takes them a while to get into town from the woods, and then a little while longer to get to the manor. The entire time, the two of them walk together, looking like little more than the heartwarming sight of a less-than-upstanding young woman helping to escort her oddly spry grandmother back home.

The manor, Sylleth sees, is red. Red, red, red, red, red. She’s not sure how she missed it at first, now that the painted and polished jewel-tone brickwork is staring her in the face. There are other parts of the house that catch her eye, as well. A garden, of course, full of herbs and flowers, looking lush and bountiful and impersonal and perfect. Small little lights on thin, thin wires winding around columns and canopies like grapevines on a trellis. The light catches on the brickwork and refracts and reflects, and the bricks shine all the brighter from it.

Eye catching, Sylleth thinks. A shame. The house could have looked nice if it didn’t look like someone cut it from a waiting room magazine and pasted it into the countryside. 

Silsuavi taps her shoulder and gestures towards the lights hanging above the veranda. “My child,” she says, looking amused. “Do you know what those up there are called?” 

Sylleth blinks. “The fairy lights?” 

“Fairy lights.” Silsuavi’s smile stretches wider. “Well now. An invitation if I’ve ever seen one, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Sylleth doesn’t speak or stop walking until they get inside the house. 

They enter through the backdoor. The smell of incense hits Sylleth the moment the door opens, and she struggles to keep herself from choking. The inside of the house looks just as out of place as the exterior. Less red, and also less cohesive. Wooden knick-knacks and trinkets litter the shelves and tables and floors in a mishmash of colors and symbols. There’s some books lying around too. Sylleth nearly trips over one titled “Wood Elf Druidism: Finding Your Inner Forest”. She punts it into the wall as she passes by.

Silsuavi shambles leisurely through the halls, appraising each little decoration with an amused glint in her eyes. She stops in front of a wall, covered floor to ceiling in plaques and hanging scrolls depicting flowery scenes and flowery language. 

“How much do you know about Wood Elf culture, my child?” she asks, eyeing one of the plaques on the wall. 

Sylleth’s brow furrows. “Not. A lot? I didn’t exactly grow up with them or anything, thanks to…” 

She follows her patron’s gaze to the plaque. On it, a flowing, earthy version of Elvish script twists and coils like ivy to spell out what translates approximately to “illiterate foreigner”. Beneath it, the words, “Enlightened” are printed. 

“Oh.” Sylleth blinks. “More than whoever lives here?” 

“Good answer.” 

“It’s a low bar.”

“Yes, well.” Silsuavi continues down the hall, and Sylleth follows behind her. 

It takes them another good fifteen minutes to find where the actual party is being held, in part because the layout of the house is needlessly complicated, but also because they keep running into interruptions. Admittedly, most of those are their own fault—Silsuavi would keep walking past little decorations or books that she found funny, only to backtrack for a chance to laugh at them, and if Silsuavi found them funny then Sylleth would have to as well, that was just how that _worked_ —but only most of them. While searching, the two end up running into some noblewoman or another roaming the halls. She doesn’t really look all that important, but that doesn’t stop her from stopping them as she swirls the wine flute in her hand, sneering and demanding to know what they think they’re doing at the party in her typical noblewoman-like fashion. 

Silsuavi’s hand clamps down on Sylleth’s shoulder, and Sylleth curses in her mind as she frantically tries to come up with a good enough lie. “What do you mean?” she says, her voice stilted. “We were just visiting family. The owner of the house is a relative.” 

She thinks she feels Silsuavi smile wide. The noblewoman raises a brow and looks them up and down, frowning only as much as socially acceptable. “Last I checked,” she says, “the de Blanche family was almost entirely human. Do you really expect me to believe you?”

Sylleth does not. But the words have left her tongue, so now she has to commit. “Ah. Well, you see.” As a precaution, she starts to channel magic into the air. Fey magic and its enchantments have never really come easy to her, and it’s only recently that she’d even pretend to consider it any bit her own instead of another thing on loan from her patron, but it should be enough to deal with a regular human woman. “It’s a distant relation. The lady de Blanche is the cousin of the granddaughter of my grandmother’s cousin, but we Wood Elves take bonds of family very seriously, regardless of distance.” She gestures toward Silsuavi at the mention of her grandmother. The magic in the air hums and buzzes with cicada song and cuckoo’s cry. 

The suspicion in the noblewoman’s expression begins to fade, just a little, and Sylleth has to fight to keep the look of disbelief off her face because that’s never worked before. The moment is ruined when another look of doubt crosses the lady’s face, and the cicada song that Sylleth had set up is blown away by a warm, muggy, oppressive magic smelling of honeysuckle and wisteria. A smile, too calm and too accepting, takes over the noblewoman’s face. 

“Oh, of course. How silly of me,” she says, sounding half-asleep and dreamlike. “Say, we really should be getting back to the party, wouldn’t you agree? Why, Countess de Blanche will be so happy to see you!” 

Sylleth stares at her and then mumbles a clipped “Yeah. Sure.” The noblewoman turns on her heel without another word and heads down the corridor, and the two follow after her. 

“It was a good attempt, my child,” Silsuavi says as they follow the woman into a gaudy looking banquet hall. “You’re improving.” 

Sylleth nods along. Hopefully there aren’t any wizards at the party or anything. Someone sensing that little stunt would be a pain to deal with. 

“Though,” the fey continues. “I can’t say I expected you to go with that, of all things. An interesting choice, though I suppose I did put you on the spot…” 

They end up following the noblewoman to a group of other, similar but more important looking noblewomen. One of them, in the center of the little group stands out, the one with big, round glasses and hydrangea colored sweater. Sylleth glances at her patron, and then back at the woman, and she begins to think.

“Rhododendron,” the noblewoman that they’d followed greets the woman with glasses sedately, that calm little smile on her face still. “You’ll never guess who I ran into just now!” She shuffles a bit to the side, so that Sylleth and Silsuavi are in full view. The other women raise their plucked brows, and Rhododendron’s owlish eyes blink behind her glasses. 

Silsuavi steps forward and smiles at her, fond and grandmotherly. Her carpet bag jostles a bit. “Child,” she says. “It’s so good to see you again.” She pulls Rhododendron into what can only be the most awkward grandma-hug of the century. 

Seeing them next to each other, Sylleth thinks she catches a few more traits that Rhododendron and her patron’s disguise share besides their clothing. Little things in their facial structure and such. She rolls her eyes behind Silsuavi’s back, because of course this would be planned, and tries to help sell their lie. “Hey, Cousin! Been a while since you were in the woods. Nice to know you’ve been keeping the old customs alive! How’ya been?” 

Rhododendron still seems confused, but Sylleth thinks she can see the gears turning in the back of her head now. One of the other noblewomen, the one whose eyebrows are even more plucked than the others, interrupts before the countess can say anything. 

“Cousin?” Plucked-brows raises her plucked brows even higher. “Lady de Blanche, when you went about suddenly claiming that you were three sixteenths Wood Elf on your mother’s side of the family, I had assumed you were joking.” 

Rhododendron blinks again, and then she laughs, having seemingly found her bearings. “Well! I wasn’t, as you can see.” She takes a sip from her wine glass. “There’s a reason we’ve been so drawn to the druidic practice, you know!” 

The group devolves into chatter again, about druidism and healing crystals and things like that, and they end up pulling Silsuavi into their conversation too. Sylleth stands and listens, keeping a mental tally of how many things they get wrong, until she feels a tug at her sleeve. She turns, and her patron smiles at her.

“Go ahead and find some food, dear,” says the fey. “I’m sure you must be famished.”

“Yeah,” Sylleth says, because she _is_ pretty hungry, now that she’s thinking about it. She supposes that she must have forgotten about that during all the… whatever this has been. “Sure.” 

She heads off to wherever the people aren’t crowding, picking up a plate of anything she can find on the way. Behind her, she can hear Silsuavi add, “Don’t go too far, now!” She gives a thumbs up in response and finds a corner where she can hopefully find some peace and enjoy her meal alone. 

All the tables near the corners end up being occupied, so Sylleth cuts her losses and settles down by the one that’s occupied the least. It’s not quite as far from Rhododendron’s group as she would have hoped, but at least there’s only one other person there. Just a kid glaring at the rest of the room with hollow, sunken eyes. She looks sickly, Sylleth notes. Sickly face with sickly skin framed by stringy, sickly hair. The other people at the party seem to be avoiding her, which makes that spot perfect. Sylleth plops her plate onto the table without ceremony. The kid glares at her.

Sylleth glances at her and sighs. “I only came along for the food. I won’t try to talk to you if you don’t try to talk to me.” 

“Deal,” the kid grumbles back. 

“Great.” Sylleth picks up her fork and stabs at her plate. It takes a few minutes of stabbing before she actually picks up any food like that. 

She catches the kid staring and raises a brow. The kid tries to pretend it didn’t happen. Sylleth is fine with that, and she goes back to trying to eat. 

“You’re actually gonna eat that?” the kid asks. 

Sylleth blinks and gives her a look. “Why wouldn’t I. I‘m hungry.” An evil little grin appears on the kid’s face, and Sylleth rolls her eyes and shovels down whatever it is that’s on her fork. “Whatever.” 

The food is not great. Definitely worse than whatever she could have made at home, and part of her is vindicated by this knowledge, which would be nicer if she wasn’t eating a thing that looked like food and tasted like acid. Most of her just feels hungry and dissatisfied. She swallows whole and tries to ignore the taste and texture of whatever she’d just eaten, glaring at her fork and the offensive plate in front of her. In her peripheral, she can see the kid grinning smugly. 

“Told you so,” the kid gloats, in that manner that only kids can really manage. 

“That wasn’t food,” Sylleth says in response. She squints at her plate, trying to see if she can identify any of the substances sitting on top, and pokes one of the masses with her fork. “Why does it taste like vinegar. Everything on this plate tastes like vinegar.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” 

“What the fuck.” Sylleth looks down at her plate, then up at the kid, then down at her plate again. “What the actual fuck.” 

“Mom’s new diet crap,” the kid supplies eagerly, the agreement to keep from speaking to one another quickly thrown out the window. Sylleth supposes that she wouldn’t have enjoyed the meal anyway, in silence or otherwise, now that she knows what the food is like. “She’s been getting the chefs to add apple vinegar to _everything_.” 

“That’s dumb.” Sylleth pauses and thinks back to all the books and decorations in the halls and that plaque from earlier. She glances in the direction that she came from. Rhododendron and her group are still chattering away about something or another, and her patron is still with them. The guests seem to be enjoying their meals. “Well. Guess it can’t be helped then.” 

The kid raises a brow. 

“You live here right?” Sylleth asks. “Know where the kitchen is?” 

“Of course I do,” the kid replies, quick and indignant. 

“Great.” Sylleth pushes out of her chair and stands. “I’m gonna ditch. Bake something, maybe. You want in?” 

The kid stares at her, and then she looks out across the banquet hall and all the nobles and guests as they hold their vinegar-coated salads and laugh together. Her face scrunches up, and then she hops out of her chair. “Better than being in here,” she says. She grabs a walking stick from under the table and points it at a door nearby. “The kitchen’s that way.” 

Sylleth nods along, and the two head toward the door. They make it about halfway before running into an obstacle. 

A blonde young woman, surrounded by a group of other blonde young women, blocks the path. The kid bristles at the sight of them, and the woman in the middle of the group sneers in her direction. 

“Regan,” she squawks at the kid, “I can’t believe this, you brought your _stick?_ Are you _trying_ to make me look like a loser?” 

Regan scowls. “You’d look like a loser no matter what I do.” 

The blonde woman shrieks in outrage, and she and Regan begin to dish out insult after insult at one another, each pettier than the one before it. Sylleth, meanwhile, leans over to look for a way around the group, but try as she might, she can’t find one. 

“Why are you even here! You can’t just walk over with _your stick_ while my friends are here and—” screeches the blonde. She catches Sylleth looking for the exit, and then she glances back at Regan. “Oh. Mygod. Are you _ditching?_ Does Mom know?” 

“We are,” Sylleth chimes in, still searching for a way past them. No dice. If the blondie doesn’t get out of the way, she and Regan won’t be going anywhere. “And she doesn’t. Say, you mind getting out of the way?” 

The blonde woman looks her over and rolls her eyes and scoffs. She doesn’t move an inch. 

Sylleth’s stomach grumbles, and she wishes that she had just stayed home, instead of coming to this irritating house full of irritating people. She frowns, and then the air hums with cicada song and cuckoo’s cry. Regan looks at her, expression laced with what seems like realization. 

“You’re in the way,” Sylleth says to the blonde woman, who now wears an expression of blank confusion instead of contempt. “Move.” 

The blonde blinks, and then she shuffles to the right. The rest of her group follow suit, and it’s just enough for the pair to get through to the door. Sylleth glances down at Regan and then starts heading for the kitchen. The kid glances at the woman and then shuffles to catch up. 

“That was an enchantment,” she says once they pass through the doorway. 

“I guess.” Sylleth takes a look around the kitchen, vague interest in her eyes. The facilities are certainly nice, and it seems well-stocked, but then, she supposes it would have to be to service the family that it does. She heads toward a less busy area and starts pulling out mixing bowls and pulling out ingredients from the pantry. The chefs shuffle past the setup in a frenzy, ignoring her completely.

“Enchantment’s dumb.” As Sylleth gets to work, Regan struggles to climb onto a stool just a little bit too tall for her. It takes a minute, but she does make it eventually. “And boring.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Flour is sifted into a large bowl, and eggs and sugar are creamed together in a light, fluffy mixture. A stick of butter is placed on the counter to soften. “But it got the job done, didn’t it?”

Regan rolls her eyes. She catches a glimpse of the butter on the counter and eyes it warily. Sylleth throws it back in the fridge and replaces it with margarine. “You could have at least made it _look_ cool.” 

“Eh.” The eggs, sugar, and flour are whisked together, and the margarine goes in too, once it’s soft enough. “Favorite kind of cake?”

“Black forest gateau,” Regan says haughtily, and Sylleth doesn’t believe her. “I bet I could do better.” 

“What, with these?.” Sylleth dumps a generous amount of cocoa powder and some soymilk into the batter and mixes, and then pours the mixture into a cupcake tray. The tray is placed in the oven and a timer is set. “You should’ve helped if that’s the case. 

“No, not with your stupid cupcakes! I don’t care about those.” Regan leans forward from her seat to stare at the oven, watching the batter bubble and bake. Sylleth idly hopes that she doesn’t fall off while doing that. “I meant getting rid of Claudia! 

“Oh, so that’s her name. Okay.” Sylleth leans against the counter. “Okay. How would you have done it then?”

“I’d send my minions after her, _obviously_.” Regan’s wide grin looks strange on her sickly face. “Have them chase her and her stupid friends around, maybe. Give them a good scare.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“You didn’t even terrorize them a little bit!” 

Sylleth opens her mouth to respond. And then she closes it and thinks. And then she opens it again. “Well for one thing, I don’t have any minions—” 

“Your loss.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She waves the kid’s comment away. “And I doubt Boss would have been happy with me causing a scene like that.”

Regan makes a face, somewhere between disgust and pity, but definitely more on the disgust end of that spectrum. “What, your mom? Do you always do exactly what she tells you?” Her tone is mocking, in that way that only children can really manage. 

“I dunno.” The oven timer dings. Sylleth grabs the tray out of the oven and sets it out to cool. The smell of chocolate fills the air. “Do _you?_ ”

“Of course not.” Regan bristles and hisses and glowers at her, and Sylleth wonders if she should drop the subject. She hums to herself and starts pulling out ingredients for frosting out of the fridge and pantry. Eggs, corn syrup, water, sugar. She whisks them all together in a pot on low heat.

_Nah._

“Of course not.” The frosting is coming along nicely. “So what’d she threaten you with to show up to this thing? Was she gonna ground you? Cut off your allowance?” 

“Piss off.” Regan seethes.

“And leave the cakes unfinished? Not likely.” Sylleth scoops up frosting on a knife and heaps a generous amount onto each of the cupcakes. “And if it helps, I got blackmailed into attending too.” 

“Gee, thanks. I feel so much better now.” Regan very pointedly avoids looking at the cupcakes, but Sylleth is pretty sure she caught her glancing at them every now and then. “Aren’t you a little _old_ to be scared of your mom?”

“Sure am, half-pint, what’s your point.” 

“You probably wouldn’t get it even if I spelled it out to you.” Regan huffs. “Dumbass.”

“Try again, you stunted fuckmunch edge-gremlin.”

“Start carrying around a potted plant to replenish all the oxygen you waste, troglodyte.” 

“And end up like your mother? I think the fuck not.” Sylleth thinks she hears Regan try to stifle a giggle. She says nothing and starts laying out the cupcakes on a tray. “I thought about pushing you off that stool for that one, but that’d probably kill you, and I don’t wanna be responsible for that.”

“What, because your mom won’t let you?”

“Nah.” Sylleth smiles brightly. “I doubt she’d give two shits. You want fake cherries on these?” She rifles through the pantry and pulls out a container of maraschinos. 

“You and your cherries can both go to hell.” 

“Cool.” She tosses the container back where she found it and holds out the tray for Regan to take one. “Well. Cakes are done. Enjoy.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Regan snatches one of the cakes and scarfs it down in a manner that would have given her mother a heart attack if she’d been around to see it. Sylleth stares at the now empty cupcake liner and blinks. 

“Well?” She raises a brow and waits, because she would like feedback on the recipe, even if the kid in front of her isn’t the best one to be giving it. 

“They’re _okay_.” The kid reaches for another one with shaky hands. Well. More like shaky _everything_. 

Sylleth moves the tray out of her reach and stares. “You doing okay there, pipsqueak?” 

“I’m fine,” Regan snaps. She climbs down from her stool and reaches out for the cupcakes again. Sylleth just holds them out further away from her. “Put the tray down, asshat, I can’t reach.” 

“Yeah, that’s the _point_.” Sylleth is pretty sure that if the kid gets any more jittery, she’ll end up launching herself into space. She holds the tray as high as she can above her head. No way the kid will be able to reach it there. She’s not sure if she’s supposed to be amused or concerned when Regan hops up and down to try and get to the cakes. 

“Put!” Hop. “It!” Hop. “Down!” 

“The fuck I will, half-bitch!” 

“Gimme!”

“No!” 

“Gimme!” Regan stops hopping and glares. She glances at the tray, and then back at Sylleth, and then back to the tray again and a malicious grin spreads on her face. She pulls out a worn, disfigured doll from somewhere on her person with an unsteady grip, and the air begins to crackle and buzz with magic. 

It’s around this time that the scent of honeysuckle drifts into the kitchen. 

Sylleth sighs. 

_Fuck this._

She looks at the kid and, still holding the tray high above her head, tries to focus. The cicadas sing and sing and sing as loud as she can make them. It takes a slow minute for it to reach Regan, and her face shifts into a sneer when it does. 

“Really? _Another_ enchantment—”

She’s out like a light. A Mage Hand flies out and catches her by the collar before she can fall into a pile on the floor. Sylleth puts the tray of cupcakes on the counter, and then she sets Regan down propped against a wall and waits a second. Hopefully she’ll be fine like that. 

She waits until she’s sure the kid is asleep, and then she gives her a few seconds to breathe. 

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

She grabs two cupcakes from the tray and bolts out of the kitchen. 

Silsuavi is waiting for her, of course. She stands not quite in the middle of the dining room, but very close. The disguise that she’d been using has been shed like an insect shell. Her carpet bag sits open, right in the center of the main table in the room. She turns her never-blinking face and smiles thinly. 

“There you are, child,” she hums. “I was beginning to wonder how long you’d be gone. Did you have fun in there?” 

Sylleth crosses the dining hall cautiously. One of the many clouds of bees in the room nearly flies into her, only to divert its course last minute and chase after some unlucky nobleman instead. They descend upon him immediately, swarming and stinging and buzzing all around him. She reaches her patron without issue. 

“Boss,” Sylleth’s voice is careful, “what’s going on?” 

“My question first, little one.” 

“I.” She glances away from the fey’s unblinking eyes, watching as the bees continue to flood out of the bag in the center of the room and chase after everyone in the area except for her patron and herself. She holds out the cupcakes that she’d taken. “I baked.”

Silsuavi’s expression brightens. She takes a cupcake and smiles wider. “Silly child,” she says between bites, looking fond. “You could have done that at home.” 

Sylleth shrugs and resists the urge to snap ‘ _I know_ ’ at the fey. “So what happened out here?” 

“Ah, well.” The cupcake is gone. “That woman and I were having the most _fascinating_ conversation, as we were when you decided to go off. Such a funny one, that girl.” 

“Then what—”

“Goodness, though, she really needs to work on her manners.” A frown appears on Silsuavi’s face for just a second. It looks out of place there, and Sylleth is glad that it vanishes so quickly. That doesn’t stop her from taking a step back from her patron, though. “I mean, really. If she had just _shut up_ about silver, she could have had such a lovely evening.” 

“Silver.” 

“ _Winter’s_ metal,” Silsuavi scoffs. “Honestly, the nerve… Anyway. You’ve eaten, yes? I saw you with a plate before you left.” 

Sylleth grimaces. “It wasn’t that great,” she offers after some hesitation. “Hence the baking.” 

“Really now?” Silsuavi turns back to her carpet bag. “What miserable hosts. That just won’t do.” 

More and more bees begin to pour out of the bag, buzzing about all angry and restless. The hosts and guests at the party are attacked with twice as much ferocity, though, like before, the bees avoid Sylleth and Silsuavi entirely. The fey smiles cheerily as the fog engulfs the hall.

A smaller swarm moves in the direction of the kitchen. Sylleth glances at Silsuavi, who raises a brow and smiles.

“Something wrong, dear?” The bees pause in their assault.

Sylleth looks at the kitchen door. Closed, but with a noticeable gap at the bottom and a sickly little kid fast asleep just beyond. She gulps. “I’d like to go home now.” 

“Oh, but the party’s just started!” 

“Please?” She stops herself from looking in the kitchen’s direction again. “I’m feeling kind of tired.” 

Silsuavi looks amused. “You’re still young. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” 

“I forgot to feed Strudel before we left?” 

“The Orchards are thriving, my child. She can make do.” 

“I—” Sylleth wracks her brain for something else to say. “I think I left the stove on at home!”

The fey’s eyes narrow. Her smile stretches wider. “Did you now?” 

“Yes.” Sylleth flinches and hopes Silsuavi doesn’t notice. She does, and she smiles so wide that her face could split apart. “We should go. To take care of that.” 

“Hm.” She tries to ignore the weight of her patron’s stare. Seconds or minutes or however long passes, and eventually there’s a sigh. “I suppose if it’s bothering you that much, fine.” Silsuavi waves her hand, and the fog of bees rushes back into the carpet bag in an orderly stream. It takes a little while for them all to return, and once they do Silsuavi closes the bag up, takes it in her hand, and starts to head out of the manor. Sylleth follows behind her without a word. 

“You’re grounded, by the way,” says the fey when they reach the woods again. “Do _not_ attempt to lie to me again.” She walks into the trees.

Sylleth takes a few seconds to breathe. One, then two, then three. “Yes ma’am.” 

The forest welcomes her home.


End file.
